Imagine Steve Hinton, Bruce Boland, John Maloney, and the rest of the Chino
Kids standing around the remains of a F4U-1 Corsair in the Planes of Fame
storage yard. They're looking at it - scratching their heads - and cradling
their chins - in deep thought. They wanted to go air racing again. They had
resources that included a warbird restoration shop, every conceivable skill
that would be required, and very little money.

If you were standing amongst this group of men and looking at it, you really
couldn't call it an airplane. It used to be a Corsair, but the elements,
time and the Hollywood movie industry had taken a toll on the airframe.
'Basket case' is the term that comes to mind. The amount of work just to get
the aircraft flyable would be huge, and the Chino Gang had the idea to go
racing again. Reno 1982 wasn't too far away; so time was of the
essence.

There was no way that a R-2800 powered Corsair was going to be competitive
around the pylons; too little horsepower and too much drag. A massive dose
of horsepower could be utilized by mounting the 4,000 hp. Pratt and Whitney
R-4360. Drag could be cut by an airframe cleanup, clipping the wings, and
paying close attention to cooling drag. Weight would be cut by removing
unnecessary equipment in the airframe.

If the program was going to proceed, it would signal a return to the Brute
Horsepower Era that ruled the post war Cleveland races. Cook Cleland's
R-4360-powered F2Gs ruled the Cleveland pylons at speeds in the neighborhood
of 400 mph. At Reno in the early eighties, that speed wouldn't cut it; the
bar had been raised to the 430 mph neighborhood.

When the Chino Kids initially consulted Bruce Boland, he thought about it,
but dismissed the idea. It would be too slow. However, he went home and ran
some calculations anyway. His slide rule told him that a Corsair with - about
4,000 hp plus or minus some variables - should be able to run laps in the
mid 400 range. With this news, thrashing commenced on the airframe with
hopes of making Reno 1982.

There were the usual number of detractors along the way that said it would
never work, or the airplane would be too slow. The Sanders family, also based at
Chino at the time, fell under this category, albeit in a good-natured way.
The late Frank Sanders would come over to the Fighter Rebuilders hangar and
shake his head. He thought it wouldn't be as fast as his Sea Fury. On the
same note, he'd be the one lending a hand or fabricating parts when needed.

With Reno quickly approaching, the racer was nearing completion. Each wing
had been clipped four feet, and the panels normally covered with fabric were
metalized with sheet aluminum. Boland designed the new engine mount to mate
the huge engine to the airframe. An A-26 cowl was found to cover the R-4360,
so John Sandberg donated one. Hundreds of modifications were made to
the airframe and systems. The finishing touches were the addition of a
Skyraider prop and a P-51 spinner.

Once the Super Corsair was complete and undergoing flight tests,
Sanders flew chase in his stock Sea Fury. One day the power was put to the
Corsair's R-4360 over Lake Mathews on the way back to Chino. The bent
wing racer accelerated away as if Sanders was tied to a post. He was so
impressed by that, he set out and created Dreadnought.

The
Super Corsair made its debut at Reno in 1982, and over the years,
became one of the favorites around the Reno pylons. Pylon Legend Steve
Hinton was the initial pilot of the Super Corsair, and in 1985, he captured
first place in the championship race when Dreadnought pilot Neil
Anderson cut pylon eight on the final lap.

When Hinton went on to fly Tsunami, John Maloney took over the
cockpit duties for the Super Corsair team. Over the years, the
aircraft had proven itself admirably. For relatively little financial
output, the Super Corsair turned out to be a very competitive
aircraft, although it would be hard pressed to attain speeds over 450 mph.
Even for years afterward, the racer was in the thick of gold competition.
The bent-wing bird could always be counted on to provide competition with
the super-stock Mustangs, Yancey's Yak and the R-3350 powered Sea Furies.

Kevin Eldridge had worked at Fighter Rebuilders for years, and had been one
of the dedicated crew that built the racer. Having earned his pilot license
in a Luscombe, Eldridge worked his way up the warbird ladder through the
T-6, B-25, Mustang and others. He had been the crew chief on the Super
Corsair, and knew it as well as anybody. When Maloney's wife became
pregnant and he decided to hang up his racing suit, Eldridge was the next
Chino Kid in line for the Corsair's cockpit. He had turned pylons
in a few Mustangs in the bronze and silver class, and had displayed some
excellent racing ability. One thing he never had, though, was a mayday during a race.

With Eldridge in the cockpit, the aircraft raced at Kansas City and was
experiencing engine problems. Eldridge explains, "We had put on a new
cowling and a different spray bar system, but we were still having trouble
with cooling." With some more work, it appeared that they had it all
figured out. "When we left for Kansas City, the engine started shucking
the valve seats out, so after takeoff it would start barking and banging. I
landed and we changed a cylinder." Even after the races, problems
persisted, so the aircraft was left at the race site.

Before the inaugural Phoenix 500 Air Races in
March of 1994, a spare engine
had been built up from an overhauled unit from the same shop as the previous
engine. Sandberg's piston ring modification had also been performed to clean
up the oil burn that 4360's are famous for. "We put about 15 hours on
that engine," Eldridge says, "Everything was running good when we
got to Phoenix."

Eldridge was still working up to the aircraft's speed potential. "Steve
(Hinton) could get all of the speed out of it," he says, "I hadn't
really worked it up, but I was getting there." More modifications had
been made over the years; large fillets smoothed the airflow between the
fuselage and wing, the air inlets had been choked down, and a larger spinner
was installed. The Super Corsair looked, sounded and performed like a
true unlimited.

During race week, the crew was finding that the new engine was making some
metal in the screens; not an uncommon problem, but one that warranted
investigation. Thought centered on a broken piston ring, so two suspect
cylinders were changed and the engine seemed to be happy during the Saturday
morning runup. For the heat race that day, the pace aircraft was down for
mechanical reasons, so race participant and pole-sitter Howard Pardue would
also act as the pace
aircraft.

Under gray skies, the racers took off and formed up on Pardue's wing. Robbie
Patterson was overhead in the TF-51D safety aircraft with Bob Hoover in the
back seat. It was time to race. Eldridge had joined up and noticed Pardue
was flying rather slowly down the chute; The power setting to stay with
Pardue was a paltry 20 inches of
manifold pressure. "I was just trying to hang on and not pass
him," he says laughing. All of a sudden, Pardue called,
"Gentlemen, you have a race," and motored away towards the first
pylon.

Eldridge followed Pardue onto the course and caught up easily. "I was
only running 62 inches or something like that," Eldridge says. "I
wasn't running that much power. I paced him and was looking for a good spot
to make my move." The first sign of any trouble came on the third lap.

"Coming around, it just started vibrating a little bit," Eldridge
says. He radioed the crew and told them of the vibration while bringing the
power back to about 10 inches, but the vibration remained. "I figured
I'd started to burn a piston, so I called a mayday at that point and started
to pull off the course."

That is exactly when all Hell broke loose.

"When I was in the climb, the engine just let go. I pulled the throttle
back and started to shut it down," he says. The race site at Williams
Gateway Airport features three ex-Air Force runways with ample room for a
mayday racer. Getting to one of them didn't seem to present a problem at
this point. "I just pulled up, made a big downwind, and said to myself,
'Oh, I've got it made...' I'll be able to shut it down and glide right in -
no problem."

"The next thing I know, is that they tell me it's on fire, and to bail
out..."

He takes a second to relive those moments. "Actually, they told me it
was on fire, and I looked at everything and then they said the fire was out.
I thought, 'Ok, the fire is out,' and I'm going to glide in. Then there is
fire again, and they said it was just blazing. They said I better
bail out. I didn't even hesitate; it's something you have with your crew.
You trust them. They're not going to tell you to bail out unless you really
have to bail out. And with 150 gallons of fuel between me and the fire, you
know...?" he chuckles. But in an instant he is somber. "I'd just
lost my friend Rick Brickert before then in Reno, and the last thing I
wanted to do was burn up."

Overhead, Patterson and Hoover were joining up as best they could and also
advising Eldridge to exit the aircraft. As he recounts the event, Eldridge
makes movements like he's in the cockpit going through his procedures.
"I didn't even hesitate to do what I had to do to get out," he
says. "It's pretty tough getting out... I was still at 250 mph and
2,500 feet AGL, by the time I got out I was probably a couple of thousand
feet above the ground."

The loss of altitude during this time had to do with the aircraft being
trimmed for basically straight and level flight at 450 mph. Since the
aircraft had lost power and was in a climb, the trim forces were unable to
hold the aircraft level. Eldridge continues, "The first time I let go
of the stick, the airplane pitched down, so I grabbed it and leveled it. The
problem the Corsair had was it had a ground adjustable trim tab. You could
adjust it for cruise to go to the race, and once you got there, we'd adjust
it for fast flying. So when I pulled up, I pulled up to about 2,500 feet
above the ground and I was down to about 250 mph. Even though that's pretty
fast, it's slow for that thing. When you let go of it, it wants to roll
over, so I had to get everything undone and let go of the stick to open the
canopy."

The first time Eldridge let go of the stick to open the canopy, the burning
racer rolled over to the right and began to pitch down. He again corrected and
rolled in all of the nose up trim. He also tried to adjust with rudder to
keep it straight, but it just wouldn't work. At this point, Eldridge was
thinking to himself that he has to get out now. While rolling in
the trim, Eldridge used his free hand to finally open the canopy. The racer
was again rolling to the right and pitching for the desert. He had decided
he was going out the left side.

With his long legs and the geometry of the
Super Corsair's cockpit,
Eldridge had to fly with the seat in the fully raised position, a fact that
made bailing out more difficult. "You've got to kind of hop up on the
seat to get out, so when I did this, the wind grabbed my helmet, so I ducked
back in real quick, turned to the side, and proceeded to jump out," he
says.

In the mean time, with flames streaming from the bottom cowling, the
Super
Corsair had begun it's final return to Earth. With precious few seconds
to go before it dug into the ground, fans, pilots, crewmembers and emergency
crews all joined in the chorus of, "Bail out! Get out!" Nobody was
breathing.

As Eldridge leapt over the side, he explains, "My left leg got stuck
between the seat and the canopy railing. I was just stuck in there and I was
pushing to get out of the cockpit. You really want to get a good jump, but I
just flopped over the left hand side. The last thing I remember seeing is
the greasy side of the airplane; I kind of slid down the side of the
fuselage and then 'wam-bam,' I'm kind of spinning in the air."

"Now I'm thinking I've got to pull the D-ring," he says as he goes
through the motion of trying to located the parachute's ripcord handle.
"I'm looking for the D-ring, spinning through the air thinking, 'Oh
man... Where's the D-ring at?' Then I find the tube that the D-ring is
connected to but the D-ring is gone."

About the time Eldridge realized the D-ring was missing, his parachute
popped open. In reviewing video of the accident, the time frame this all
occurred in was just a few quick seconds. When he realized his chute had
opened, Eldridge remembers thinking, "Wow!!! OK!!!" It might be
argued that at this point, things were looking up for Eldridge, but the
drama wasn't over yet.

There were a few seconds left in the life of the
Super Corsair. It had represented everything good about unlimited air racing. It had been built
"On The Cheap" by a talented group of people. John Sandberg and
Daryl Bond had provided sponsorship and donations to the program. It was
competitive, it was a favorite, and it was rolling inverted... Still on
fire, it flew straight into the ground. The muted impact and fireball made
the crowd gasp. For a quick instance, fire trailed up one of the wing tip
vortices. The Super Corsair was gone.

Back in the air, Eldridge took stock of the situation. His helmet and oxygen
mask had been ripped off his head either from the slipstream or contact with
the tail of the aircraft. When he looked down, he saw his left leg was
pointed off at a 50 degree angle. "That's gonna hurt," he thought.
He didn't watch the aircraft hit the ground. "I saw it on the news in
the hospital. That was tough to watch," he says.

While
hanging in the 'chute, Robbie Patterson and Bob Hoover were orbiting in the
Mustang. "They came by and I waved at them to let them know I was ok.
And I'll tell you, there is nothing more beautiful than the sound of that
Mustang flying by when you're floating down in that parachute."

With the adrenalin still pumping, Eldridge had yet to feel any pain from his
leg. Unfortunately, that was the least of his problems. All he knew was that
his leg was pointing in a rather unique direction, and his arm had began to
hurt. There was a large lump in it. "Then it hit me," Eldridge
says. "To be blunt, I thought, 'This can't be f&*$ing happening to
me! It hits you that it actually happened."

At this point, Eldridge tried to look up at his canopy, but could not get
his head to tilt back enough to see. Knowing something was wrong with his
neck, he began feeling a lot more pain in his arm. Things turn almost
comical at this point. "It was just taking forever to come down. I'm
over a double highway and all I see is this white diesel truck coming down
the road, and I'm thinking, 'I'm going to get hit by the truck,' so I hold my
arms out and wind kind of blows me past the road," he says.

"I was looking good at that point, going out over the sagebrush,"
he remembers. "But that last fifteen feet, man, you just haul ass.
I hit and held up my left leg as high as I could because I knew it was
broken. I tucked, rolled, and landed on my side and thought I would get up.
I couldn't; I just laid on my side with my parachute for like - forever. It
might have been ten minutes before they came out and got me."

In the distance, Eldridge could hear a helicopter that was part of the
airshow. It had taken off and was flying back and forth searching for the
fallen race pilot. He raised his good arm to make himself easier to see.
Upon seeing him and landing nearby, a passenger came over and stayed with
Eldridge until the paramedics arrived. "That was a comedy of
errors," he says. "I was just dying of thirst; I wanted a
Gatorade, but they wouldn't give me anything for fear of me going into
shock."

After arriving at the hospital, the tally sheet for Eldridge's injuries
included a broken C2 vertebrae, a broken right arm, a compound fracture in
both bones in his left leg, and various minor injuries.

By all accounts, the neck injury alone should have
paralyzed or killed him. Upon examination, his parachute was within a hair
of falling apart. Due to the speed at the time the chute opened, three
panels blew out, and the bottom skirt had one-eighth of an inch of nylon
left before it would have torn. At every step, it seemed Eldridge had used
up every ounce of luck in the world.

Kevin Eldridge's hospital stay in Arizona lasted one week, with another week
in a Riverside, California hospital. His recuperation took quite a bit of
time, including three months in a halo to keep his neck immobilized. Arm and
leg casts were also on for a similar amount of time, and he still has the
titanium plate and eight screws in his arm as a souvenir. Luckily, his
recovery has been complete and he returned to flying right after his doctor
cleared him.

"I've been the only one that had to bail out, "
Eldridge sums up.
"Everybody at the races wears all the gear; the helmet, the flight suit
and the gloves, and everybody straps on a parachute. But nobody thinks
they're going to have to use it. You should actually go through the steps
and see what you're going to do to get out. Practice for the worst. Know
your equipment and know how to use it."